Red
by Blodigealach
Summary: When finally he found what was lost, everything was dyed in red. AU. Yukimura-centric. Side story of 'Missing Log'.


Series: Prince of Tennis  
Disclaimer: Konomi Takeshi  
Pair: Mostly gen, with hints of Platinum and Alpha

Warning: AU, character death, possible OOC-ness, possible confusion of idea

Note: This is a side story of **Missing Log**, but it can be read separately.

ShinTeni OVA 2 and the upcoming RikkaiMyu really brought me to all angsty Alpha feels ;A; Also, I blame 'Tayuta' by RADWIMPS and 'Leia' by Yuyoyuppe for driving me to write this story.

* * *

Yukimura Seiichi took a picture of the last painting he was about to send to gallery for an exhibition. It was a solo exhibition, consisting of only his paintings. It's not rare for him to have solo exhibitions, since he had become one of the well-known artists of his time. It's not even rare for him to be invited to various countries just to display his creations. That was just how popular and talented he was.

But Yukimura himself came to the conclusion that the exhibition he was about to held really had the hardest theme compared to the previous exhibitions. He sighed long when he remembered about it again, still feeling uneasy no matter how many times he tried to get rid of those feelings. He walked back into his desk, to where his laptop was. He turned it on, preparing to move the pictures from the camera to the laptop, preparing them before sending them off to be made into a catalogue.

He sat there, working for hours processing the pictures. After everything was done, he took one last look to the pictures one by one. Most paintings only has white canvas with some streaks of sky blue, medium yellow, sap green, crimson, and ivory black. Some only formed random lines, while some others formed something that seemed like blurred image of a person. He skimmed through those pictures, until he stopped at the last and the biggest painting he had.

The canvas was 2,5 meter in height and 1,5 meter in width. It would be placed as the centerpiece of the entire exhibition. But while other canvases were painted in various colors, that canvas only had one color. From one corner to another, through the entire rough surface, pitch-black paint was used to fill the canvas. There was no other color shown, not even the white of the gesso he used to prime the canvas.

He stared blankly into that picture before he sighed again and sent off the whole folder. He stretched his arms and leaned more to his seat. He still had it, the feeling of imperfectness, as if he hadn't finished what he had done. There was still something missing in his paintings, something so vital he knew he should achieve. But his curator told him that his paintings were okay as it is, and that Yukimura shouldn't be worried about anything.

Suddenly, his cellphone rang. He quickly picked it up, "Yes, Yukimura Seiichi here."

"Ah, Yukimura, this is Niou," said the person at the other end of the call. Yukimura straightened up; knowing that if Niou called him it's probably about the project he gave Yukimura some time ago. He was asked to sculpt the 'skin' of a robot, and he had told Niou to call him whenever he needed adjustment.

"What's up? Do you need any adjustment to the 'skin'?" asked Yukimura.

"No. I've told you; it's perfect as it is. I'm calling you to talk about your exhibition. Is it okay if Hiroshi and I come? Recently he's learning about art, and I told him that you're having an exhibition nearby soon. He wants to see it," replied Niou. Yukimura shifted his position on his seat, not really comfortable both physically and mentally to talk about his own exhibition.

"Well, I can arrange the invitation. But just for your information, this exhibition isn't going to be as good as the previous ones. I have troubles working on the paintings and honestly, I just want to burn all of the canvases," replied Yukimura as he stroke his hair backwards, swiping away the strands of midnight blue from his forehead.

"Not going to believe that until I see it with my own eyes. Really, Yukimura, your hands can do magic. It's always been like that," replied Niou. Yukimura chuckled. Was he? He didn't know. He lived by 'today' and 'tomorrow', not 'yesterday'.

"Alright, I'll send two invitations for you. Is it okay to send it to your lab instead of your apartment? I've never seen you stepped outside your lab anyway," asked Yukimura again.

"Ah, thank you very much. And I've sold my apartment just a few days ago anyway. Sorry for not telling," replied Niou. Yukimura sighed. He had heard that Atobe cut Niou's research fund short, to the point that Niou started to sell his own belongings. It might seem ridiculous for other people, to sacrifice so much for a so-called 'perfection', but somehow Yukimura understood that kind of feeling. He had it too as well, although in different application.

"See you later, then. I still have to send my paintings to the gallery," said Yukimura. With a short goodbye, both of them ended the call. Yukimura sat still in his position for a few more minutes before stood up and called for his usual delivery service. He really needed to send his paintings as soon as possible, or he might end up re-painting at least half of them.

-/-

The exhibition was very crowded, with many people who have big influence in art. Some already knew Yukimura, and some others were just being introduced to the man behind all of those canvases. Not long after the opening ceremony and some obligatory talk from some important people and Yukimura himself, the blue-haired man found himself almost hiding in the corner, away from people.

"Not feeling comfortable in your own exhibition?" a voice asked. Yukimura raised his gaze from the white floor to meet a pair of aquamarines, looking slightly dull behind a pair of glasses. It's Niou, and the professor was definitely in one of his cleanest state. His silver hair was still as long as always, but at least it wasn't sticking out so much like usual. He also looked different in his black coat, contrasting with his white lab coat. But he was obviously paler, thinner, and more exhausted than the last time they met.

"Where's Hiroshi?" asked Yukimura as he forced a thin smile to his friend. Niou cocked his head to a direction behind him, and there was a brunette, staring intently at one of Yukimura's paintings. The android still looked the same since the last time Yukimura saw him; all tidy and clean, almost in contrast with the professor.

"He seems to like it," commented Yukimura, and Niou laughed dryly at the statement. Yukimura gave him an apology smile, and Niou just waved his hand in return. Yukimura almost forgot that Hiroshi still lacked the 'heart', to feel and express any kind of emotions. He sighed, thinking that much or less he had similarity with Hiroshi in that aspect.

He lacked of 'memories' of his own life, since the beginning until a few years back.

He never knew what actually happened to him until everything disappeared like that. All he knew that he had lost at least 15 years of his life when he woke up in a hospital; all confused about who he was and what he was doing in a hospital. He got his brain checked, and there was no actual damage there. He was then brought to a psychiatrist and he was told that his memory loss was due to huge psychological trauma. Through some therapy and medical check-ups, he started to regain what he was lost. Still, not everything came back to him. There was still a huge hole both in his memories and heart, and that's when he started to paint. When he painted, he felt like he could grasp some of the lost memories, yet he's still afraid to know what caused him to forget.

"That black canvas at the end of the hall, is that the centerpiece?" asked Niou suddenly, snapping Yukimura back from his own thoughts. He blinked blankly before his brain could finally process what Niou said, and he nodded nervously.

"Yes, that's the centerpiece. Since the theme for this exhibition is 'Memoir', yet there's still a huge endless hole in my memory… That's why I have that huge, black, empty canvas as my centerpiece, to let people know that it's how my memories are," explained Yukimura as he followed Niou's stare to the end of the hall, where the canvas was put.

"Anyway, is it just me, or do you actually painted a figure in that canvas? Because if you squinted hard enough, I think there's a man's figure in the middle," asked Niou again. Yukimura chuckled as he shook his head gently.

"No way, Niou. I only stroke the brush randomly—"

Pair of sapphires was widened in shock. He stared right into that canvas, his expression made him looked as if he just saw a ghost. Then, without any warning, he stormed into the guestroom, where he put his bag. He knocked some people in his way there, but he didn't stop. There was something he had to make sure. There was something he needed to do.

Once he reached the room, he rummaged through his bag and quickly pulled a set of acrylic paint he always had with him. He then stormed back to the gallery, half-running to the black canvas hanged at the end of the hall. Without even stopping to talk or anything, he pulled down the canvas, laying it on the floor. People around him instinctively made a room, all confused with what he did.

"Yukimura-san! Yukimura-san, what are you doing?" His curator walked towards him, not liking what he saw. But Yukimura ignored him and just shrugged off his coat, throwing it to the side, and folded his shirt's sleeves. He also took off both of his shoes and socks, folded his trousers, and kneeled at the side of his canvas. He took a tube of acrylic, pressing out some of the paint to his fingers, before his curator grabbed his shoulder forcefully.

"Yukimura-san—"

"DON'T DISTURB ME!" yelled Yukimura, as he unconsciously taking the senses away from the poor curator. The man swayed back; his sight was empty and frightened. Yukimura faced his canvas again, and started to apply colors into the canvas.

_His skin was sun-kissed from hours and hours of practice under the harsh sun._

Roughly, a figure was formed. From the way Yukimura painted that figure, it was clear that he was drawing a man. He was tall, and his arms and legs were strong. Yukimura took another color and apply it again to the canvas, without even bothering if the colors would blend.

_He was a member of Rikkai Tennis Club, and he would always wear the yellow jersey proudly._

Even when Yukimura painted his torso clothed, it was clear that he had muscular torso. His shoulders were broad, and his build was strong. Yukimura took the white, applying it even more hastily than before.

_His heart was pure white, as white as the tennis shorts and tennis shoes he always wore._

This time, Yukimura picked a dark brown color from his acrylic set. Both of his hands were stained with paint, so were his shirt and trousers. But he didn't seem to care. He has his full attention to the canvas in front of him, to the figure that was slowly shown on that pitch-black canvas.

_His eyes were brown, fierce yet warm, very full of life._

Pair of eyes was painted on his face, giving the whole painting a soul. Yukimura stopped and slumped at the side of canvas, stared blankly at the figure he had just painted. The guests around him gasped in awe, amazed with how fast Yukimura painted and how alive his painting looked. It was as if the man in the painting was alive, standing proudly in his golden age, ready to wipe out all of his opponents.

Then, suddenly, Yukimura pulled out crimson red and tainted both of his hands with that color. And without any warning, he dragged his crimson-tainted hands all over the painting. The redness stained his fierce face, well-built torso, and his legs.

And as he did that, Yukimura started to cry. His breath was short and sharp, and his tears were dripping right to the red stains on the canvas, preventing the paint to dry right away. Slowly, he brought his hands away from his painting. He stared at the crimson on his palms, both from the paint and his own blood when he brushed too hard on the canvas.

He opened his mouth, gagging, trying to spit out a word that was buried deep in his forgotten memories.

"_Tomorrow is our graduation day, eh? I don't think I can sleep tonight," said Yukimura, sitting up on his queen-size bed. He glanced at the pictures at his desk; one of them was their last picture from the High School Nationals. He and a capped teen stood side by side; he held the golden trophy while the other held the certificate. This time, unlike other team pictures, the teen was actually looking at Yukimura._

"_I also feel nervous about tomorrow. But still, your health is the most important thing. You should go to sleep now," said the teen at the other end of the phone. His voice was strong and firm, but there was also certain warmth in that deep and husky voice._

"_Hey," Yukimura called, but hesitated afterwards. Should he say it now? There was something he absolutely wanted to say, but he was still afraid to say it._

"_What is it, Yukimura?" the other teen asked. Yukimura shook his head slowly despite knowing that the other one couldn't see him over the phone._

"_Nothing. Anyway, you're right. We should sleep now. I'll close the phone. Good night," said Yukimura gently._

"_Good night," said the other, before both of them cut the call. Yukimura sighed long, before he dropped himself to his bed, falling into sleep after promising himself that he'd absolutely tell his feelings at the next morning. He's going to do it, and nothing could stop him._

_The next day, Yukimura was about to queue at the usual bus stop when he saw people crowding near that bus stop. He joined the crowd out of curiosity, wanting to know what happened. Apparently, there was an accident. He asked one of the women that seemed to see the whole thing._

"_There was a little kid that walked to the street chasing for her ball. Suddenly there's a car, almost hitting her, if only that boy didn't appear!" explained that woman. She then took a good look at Yukimura's appearance and she looked surprised. "Oh! He wore the same uniform with you! Maybe you'll be able to recognize him!" exclaimed that woman._

_Suddenly, Yukimura felt uneasy. He stormed forward, pushing the crowds aside to see who this savior boy was. Deep down inside, he hoped that he's not anyone that he knew. But by the time he reached the front and saw the figure that was being carried into the ambulance, he felt like his blood flow was turned around._

_He knew that figure too well. His sun-kissed skin, his tall and muscular figure, his raven black hair, his black old cap—everything. Yukimura felt like all energy in his body sipped out, making him dropped onto his knees. Pair of sapphires was wide open, tainted in horror, seeing all the reds in front of him. He opened his mouth, gasping for the air he didn't know he lacked, gagging for a name of the man he was about to confess his love to._

"_GENICHIROOOOOOOOOOO!"_

He screamed to the top of his lungs, to the point that his throat felt sore. He stared at the painting, at the figure that was lost from his memories for some long years, and at the redness of the paint and his own blood. Everything rushed back to him like Niagara Falls, harsh and merciless. He covered both of his ears, screaming and wailing like a madman, now that he finally remembered everything.

Then, everything stopped. Yukimura swayed to the side, dropped on the canvas, right besides the painting of Sanada Genichiro.

-/-

He turned on the light in his long-left studio. After the incident in the gallery, he was brought to the hospital and forced to stay there for a week. He went through some therapies before he was released a couple of weeks later, assuring his therapist that he had got over the shock.

All of his paintings from the exhibition were returned, as well as the painting of Sanada he made on the huge black canvas. That canvas was sitting in the middle of the studio, as if the real Sanada really was standing there, waiting for Yukimura's return. Yukimura walked towards the painting with a thin smile on his face.

"I'm home, Genichiro," he said casually, maybe far too casually. He held a large bottle in his left hand, and the content was spilling all over the floor. But Yukimura didn't seem to care. In fact, he seemed to do it purposely.

He arrived in front of the painting, and spraying the liquid in that bottle around him and the canvas, as well as his own clothes and the canvas itself. After emptying the bottle, he threw it aside and searched into his pocket. While he was doing that, he stared right into the eyes of Sanada's painting.

"Genichiro… I know it's late, but I want you to know that I love you. I've loved you since our second year of Middle School, but I was too afraid to tell it to you," he said calmly, as if he was really speaking to Sanada. He smiled gently and caressed the painting's cheek lovingly.

"It's better late than never, right, Genichiro?" he added as he chuckled happily. He then found what he searched, and pulled it out from his pocket. He opened the steel cap, placing his thumb dangerously near the clicker. He sighed before he smiled again at the painting, full with love and regret.

"I'll see you again later, hopefully," he mumbled softly. Then, he pushed down his thumb, and a single click was heard.

Everything was dyed in red.


End file.
